


Just friends

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, side mystrade, why won't they talk to each other?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Sherlock thinks he would have a much easier time with just being John’s friend if John didn’t act like they’re actually together in the privacy of their flat.But of course, things have never been easy for Sherlock.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this… I’ve said a hundred times before I have no self control whatsoever, hence my ridiculous number of WIPs. In my defense though, I was planning for this to be a one shot, only it grew a little too much and so I decided to make it a two-shot instead :P  
> Enjoy!

There’s music coming from inside the flat.

Sherlock hesitates for a beat, hand already raised to knock on the door. The melody playing is from some old romantic movie he can’t quite place right now, but it certainly makes no favours to his already melancholic mood. He sighs dejectedly, considers going back to his own flat once more, remembers what prompted him to search refugee in his brother’s flat to begin with and he finally knocks on the door.

He can hear the sound of footsteps approaching, the person coming to the door humming quietly under his breath as the song continues to play in the background and Sherlock bites his lip, nervous despite himself. It’s ridiculous, he knows, because his brother and Lestrade have made it abundantly clear he’s welcome any time, but-

“Sherlock!” Lestrade greets, opening the door. “Are you okay?” he asks immediately, no doubt taking in his red eyes and his alcoholic breath. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, without missing a beat and the younger man shakes his head once.

Lestrade bites his lip, but doesn’t press, instead proceeding to drag him into the flat, closing the door after him. From the kitchen comes the smell of dinner being cooked and his brother peeks outside it, frowning the minute he sees Sherlock. One look from Lestrade silences him and prompts him to go back to making dinner, while the older man leads Sherlock to the guest room.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to have dinner with us?” Lestrade asks, while he starts clearing up the many papers scattered around the room a bit. Sherlock shakes his head and the older man sighs, continuing with what he’s doing. “Sorry about this. I’ve been stuck with a case-”

“I could help,” Sherlock offers with a small shrug and his brother-in-law hesitates for a beat before smiling sadly, clapping a hand over Sherlock’s shoulder affectionately.

“You know, that might actually be a good idea,” he says before letting go of his shoulder. “Are you sure about dinner?” he asks once he has put away the worse of the mess and Sherlock nods absentmindedly, already skimming through one of the files on the desk.

“Right. Well, if you need anything…”

Sherlock nods once again, dropping himself on the lumpy mattress and his companion sighs once more, before leaving the room, leaving the door open behind himself. Sherlock considers the merits of standing up and closing it, but he finds the domestic sounds coming from the living room are somewhat relaxing and he decides to leave it like that.

As long as his brother and his husband don’t decide to get overly affectionate, everything will be fine.

* * *

 

When he and John had met, nearly two years ago, Sherlock had been immediately smitten. The more time they spent together, the stronger his infatuation grew and by the point they agreed on sharing a flat, he was hopelessly in love.

Being with John felt as natural as breathing; he enjoyed his company as he had never enjoyed anyone else’s before. He craved affection and John seemed to bestow it so easily that Sherlock never stood a chance and so, six months ago, when the older man had kissed him, seemingly out of the blue, Sherlock had found himself eagerly reciprocating, entirely too happy with the development to question what it meant for them and their friendship.

As it turns out, it hadn’t meant much, really.

Nothing had truly changed. They spent time together and went out just as much as always, but John never acted particularly affectionate outside the privacy of their flat. At first, Sherlock had figured John wasn’t really into PDA, but after he had tried to hold his hand once while they were walking to school and John had abruptly pulled away, he had begun to suspect it was something else.

And then, one day, he and John had been on what he had thought was a lovely date in a café near the university and they had run into a friend of John. He had introduced his girlfriend to John and then John had introduced Sherlock as his flatmate and _ friend _ .

Suddenly, everything made an awful lot of sense.

Sherlock had berated himself for being so foolish: of course they weren’t dating. He wasn’t sure what they were doing either, since he very much doubted regular friends kissed each other and slept together, but they evidently weren’t an  _ item _ and Sherlock was an idiot for thinking otherwise.

He had tried to make his peace with the knowledge and for the most part, it had worked. Being John’s  _ something  _ was a hundred times better than being John’s  _ nothing  _ but it still hurt from time to time. There are days when the line seems so blurry that Sherlock can almost forget he’s not John’s boyfriend and then there are days when John will introduce him to someone as  _ his friend  _ and he’ll find himself quickly descending into a gloomy mood.

He has thought about confronting John about it hundred of times: all he wants it’s too be told what exactly they’re doing. He would say they’re friends-with-benefits, but the term doesn’t seem to really fit, not when John is so… not when he…

But everytime he starts to bring up the subject of their relationship, John will smile at him, kiss him and then they will inevitably end up in his bedroom once more, clinging to one another as if life itself depended on it, pulling each other as close as possible, John whispering all sort of sweet nothings against his skin and Sherlock will forget, at least for the time being, all his concerns, only to have them come back more viciously the minute John falls asleep next to him.

He doesn’t think he can keep on doing this, but he’s not sure he’s strong enough to actually demand answers. 

God, what a mess.

* * *

 

“You know, maybe you should try talking to John,” Lestrade says, busying himself with cooking breakfast while Sherlock glares at the coffee cup he has placed in front of him. “I’m not sure what’s going on between you two, but evidently it’s getting progressively worse.”

Mycroft hums, not taking his eyes off his phone and Sherlock glares at his brother. “It’s fine,” he argues, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re fine.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Lestrade says, looking at him from over his shoulder . “Good communication is key in any relationship. If you’re no longer comfortable with this arrangement of yours, you should say as much.”

“You think?” Sherlock says sarcastically, taking a small sip from his drink and making a face before practically emptying the sugar bowl in his cup. 

“Sherlock, being honest-”

“Oh, please. As if either of you had a leg to stand on,” he comments, glaring at Lestrade while the older man places a plate in front of him.

“Excuse me, but we’ve been married for a decade. I should think-”

“Are you forgetting the part where I had to stop you from marrying… Julianne? Juliet? what was her name again?”

“Jolene,” Mycroft supplies helpfully, taking a sip from his own coffee and earning himself a pointed glare from his husband. “And how could we forget your dramatic interruption, brother dear? I doubt anyone in town has forgotten.”

Sherlock huffs. “Well, someone had to, since you both were obviously too blind to see how madly in love you were with one another!”

“Nevertheless,” Lestrade interrupts, his cheeks a soft red colour. “We’re discussing your love life, young man. Not ours.”

“Sure, just don’t forget yours wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for me.”

“Which is why, brother dear, we’re so concerned about your…  _ situation.  _ Dr. Watson has always struck me as a reasonable fellow, surely you could talk, like the two adults you are, about your  _ feelings _ ?”

Sherlock huffs. “It’s not that simple.”

“I don’t see why not. Didn’t you use to tell me all that was standing in the way of my happiness was my own inability to properly communicate?”

He has him there. But rather than admit defeat, Sherlock stands up and leaves without another word, making sure to throw one last dark glare in his brother’s direction, that Mycroft doesn’t bother to acknowledge.

He’s used to them after all.

* * *

 

“Did he really say that?” Greg asks, placing Sherlock’s abandoned breakfast in front of his husband, before leaning down for a kiss.

Mycroft hums, pulling his husband closer until he’s sitting on his lap. “Several times, if I recall correctly,” he agrees, nuzzling his partner’s jaw. “I was going to interrupt your wedding myself, you know?”

“Oh, really?”

Mycroft shrugs. “Probably. I was certainly thinking about it.”

Greg laughs, resting his forehead against his husband’s. “Well, it probably would have been more romantic. And knowing you, even more dramatic.”

“You wound me, my dear. When have I ever been fond of dramatics?” Greg laughs some more, but before he can answer, Mycroft’s phone rings. Still sitting on Mycroft’s lap, Greg can perfectly read the text he has just received and he laughs again, pressing a quick kiss to his companion’s cheek and standing up to continue making breakfast.

“Really, dear? You’re threatening John?”

Mycroft shrugs. “My brother and I might not have the best of relationships… but we do look out for one another.”

Greg just chuckles.

* * *

 

“Any clue on why your brother is threatening me?”

Ah, of course the meddling bastard has decided to intervene. “No idea,” Sherlock responds with a casual shrug of his shoulders, keeping his face carefully blank. His heart is aching in that vague way it always does when John looks like this: all sleep ruffled, a picture perfect of domesticity.

It’s all an illusion, after all.

“Are you alright?” John questions and Sherlock wonders when he came to stand right behind him. He busies himself with making tea he has no intention of drinking, but that he knows won’t go to waste thanks to John’s tea drinking habits.

“Yes, fine,” he answers, perhaps a bit more harshly than he intended, feeling a light itch underneath his skin he can’t begin to scratch. “Never been better.” He’s overdoing it and John will never buy his lie now, but he can’t help himself.

“Is this about last night?” John asks gently, placing one hand on Sherlock’s elbow. “You stormed out of Mike’s house and when I came back here…”

“I said I’m fine,” Sherlock hisses, pulling away. “I went to my brother’s.”

A pause. “I figured,” John whispers, once more reaching for him and Sherlock takes yet another step back. “Something is obviously bothering you, why won’t you talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he argues, slipping past his friend, heading towards his bedroom and closing the door after him with a slam. He rests his back against the door, taking a deep breath, telling himself to stop overreacting. There’s no use on worrying John and in fact, that might be rather counterproductive.

“I’m fine,” he tells himself sternly, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids. “I’m fine,” he repeats without much conviction, something that sounds an awful lot like a sob escaping his throat.

God, he’s a mess.

He’s not fine.

* * *

 

There’s a knock on his door close to midnight and while every instinct in his body is yelling at him to ignore it, he can’t. Just as he expected, John is on the other side of the door, looking sheepish, biting on his lip in what has to be the most tempting way ever.

“I’m sorry,” John murmurs, not quite meeting his eyes. “I don’t… I know you… after our discussion I thought I’d give you some time to cool off but…” he gestures vaguely, widely and then finally meets Sherlock’s eyes. “I can’t sleep in my old bed. It feels… wrong. So even if you… you don’t have to do anything, I just… can I stay here?”

He should say no. His sanity definitely can’t take this anymore, it’s going to kill him if he carries on like this, but-

“Of course,” he agrees, gesturing for John to come in. “I… I’m sorry about this afternoon.”

John bites his lip, hesitating at the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t want to talk about it but… I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”

Yes. No. It’s complicated. “Can we just go to sleep?”

John stares at him for a beat before slipping into the bed, rolling into his usual side shortly after. He looks worried, but doesn’t say a word when Sherlock slips into bed next to him, nor when Sherlock tentatively places an arm around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” John repeats in the tense silence that follows, kissing the top of Sherlock’s head, wrapping his own arm around his companion’s waist, hesitantly pulling him close. “Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, John.”

* * *

 

Telling himself over and over he’s being silly doesn’t seem to be helping at all.

It’s becoming quite clear Sherlock needs to make a decision: either he breaks things up with John now or he starts treating their agreement as what it is, a simple agreement between two grown ups that helps them relieve stress and is, in fact, quite pleasurable.

The problem, he thinks, is that the first option is too painful to even contemplate it and the second… well. It’d be so much easier if John didn’t insist on acting as if they are an actual couple inside the privacy of their own home.

When he wakes up, John is already up, making breakfast for them both, humming merrily to himself. Sherlock rolls onto his back and continues lying in bed for a long while, staring at the ceiling and contemplating his life choices. These little things John does make it entirely too easy for him to pretend there’s something  _ real  _ between them and while he supposes it’s not something completely unusual for friends to do for each other, if you add the kisses and the sex, it’s no wonder his poor heart is so confused.

A knock on the door pulls him out of his dark musings and he looks up to find John watching him with a fond,  _ loving  _ look that makes Sherlock’s stomach flip funnily. “I have an exam this morning, so I was thinking on leaving early. Fancy going with me?”

Sherlock considers this for a beat, his stomach still performing distracting acrobatics. “I don’t think so,” he replies and forces himself not to take his words back when John’s expression falls. Normally he would take any excuse to spend more time with John, but today… “I’m not feeling very well.”

That is, of course, the wrong thing to say because John immediately goes into full doctor mood, immediately fussing over him, soon forgetting all about breakfast or his plans to leave for Uni earlier and Sherlock is torn between being happy about John staying and fussing over him and being miserable because he knows it doesn’t mean what he would want it to mean.

It’s starting to look like he’ll have no other option but to give up on John’s presence entirely.

But he’s not sure how he’s going to survive that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I was thinking of including John’s POV, but I thought that would give too much away and that’s not really the plan so… you’ll have to wait to see what’s going on inside that funny head of his ;)  
> Next chapter should be ready at some point next week, probably, because the plan is to have if finished by Valentine’s Day, but it’ll depend on a) my actual work and b) my inspiration for my other WIPs ;)  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought!  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s the second (and last) chapter! I’m a little worried about the ending, but while I was planning to write something else, it felt a little too dramatic and unnecessary so… well. I hope you’ll like this version! ;)  
> Enjoy!

“Are we doing anything for Valentine’s Day?”

Sherlock stops what he’s doing just to stare at John as if he had grown a second head. Which, in all fairness, would be less surprising than what he has just said. “What?” he asks, very smartly, expression baffled.

“Sherlock, what have I told you about cutting body parts?”

Sherlock looks down at his half chopped liver and then looks back at his friend. “Not to do it on the kitchen counter?”

John rolls his eyes affectionately while he starts clearing out the many dishes scattered around Sherlock’s most recent experiment. “No, I gave up on getting you to do it elsewhere. But I did ask you to put away the dishes we actually eat on when you are chopping body parts.”

Sherlock nods absentmindedly, still watching John funnily. “What did you say about Valentine’s Day?”

John blinks, turning to face Sherlock. “I asked if we were doing anything,” he says, a light frown on his face. “I just… I mean… I know you can probably get us a table at Angelo’s, but the place is bound to be crowded and I know how you feel about crowds and people, so I thought…” He shrugs non committedly, going back to washing the dishes. “We could have a quiet night in. Or we can go out, whatever you want.”

Sherlock blinks, trying to process the new information. Valentine’s Day might just be an over commercialized holiday, but it’s a holiday targeted for couples. Since he and John are just friends, they don’t- 

“A night in is fine.”

John nods and carries on as if nothing noteworthy had happened while Sherlock stares at him confusedly, unsure of what the hell has just happened or what has he agreed on.

Maybe his brother-in-law is (for once) right.

He needs to talk things through with John.

* * *

 

“Surely this is a good thing? Not something to freak about?” Lestrade asks, displaying his usual inability to comprehend the intricacies of the Holmes’ thought process despite having been married to one for a decade.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock murmurs moodily, rearranging a couple of the crime scene photographs and frowning a bit. “I mean… yes, potentially, but maybe it’s just… I mean… it’s not like John is actually dating someone right now, so maybe…”

“Don’t you think you should be asking John this questions?” Lestrade asks, picking up a donut and eating it, completely disregarding Sherlock’s crisis. “What?”

“How can you eat in a time like this?” Sherlock demands, his tone suggesting he’s been deeply betrayed and Lestrade rolls his eyes dramatically, taking an even bigger bite from his donut to get his point across.

“Sherlock, you can speculate at your heart’s content, but the only way to know for sure is talking to John,” he says very seriously when Sherlock’s pout becomes too much to bear. “I’m fairly certain you told me as much a couple of times.”

“Well, yes, but I already knew Mycroft liked you, so there was no real risk there.” Lestrade hums, conceding his point and Sherlock takes a donut for himself, examining it morosely. “I don’t want to lose him.”

His brother-in-law hums once again, but that’s not helpful at all. “I really think you should have talked things through before sleeping together,” Lestrade says after a beat. “I mean, your brother and I discussed it once and of course we interpreted each other words  _ badly  _ but you know… at least we talked about it.”

“You talked about having sex? When you were just friends?”

Lestrade shrugs casually. “Yep. He told me it would get messy and feelings were bound to get involved, which I interpreted as Mycroft not having feelings for me, while what he actually meant is that he was worried his feelings would end up getting hurt so…” He gestures vaguely. “You know, it’s a real miracle we’re together.”

It’s Sherlock’s turn to roll his eyes dramatically. “I got you two together. It’s high time you return the favour.”

“Huh. Now that’s an idea. I’ll call John tonight-”

“No, no, no! Are you out of your freaking mind?”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said!” Sherlock exclaims, exasperated. “I just… don’t. Forget about it.”

Lestrade is watching him funnily, but he knows better than to try to talk sense into Sherlock when he’s like this. He knows the older man is right and that he must speak to John (or let someone else do it) but he’s too afraid of what might happen afterwards. This purgatory of not knowing what they are is painful, but the hell of knowing  _ for sure _ that John doesn’t think of him like that-

“Hasn’t my brother tried to teach you some manners?” he asks, watching the way his companion is now licking his fingers clean. “That’s disgusting.”

Lestrade smirks, knowing he’s trying to change the subject and letting him. “He did. And then your parents made a point of how awful they were and how could he even contemplate being with me because of that and of course he started encouraging me to behave even more poorly.”

Ah, yes. He had forgotten why Mycroft is no longer invited to family dinners. “Lucky him,” he murmurs to himself, suppressing a shiver as the memories of last christmas resurface.

His brother-in-law laughs.

* * *

 

Next week is pure torture and the more he thinks about it, the more obvious it becomes he’s going to need to talk to John whether he wants it or not. Despite the fact that John has accused him several times of being a mind reader, that is, in fact, not true and so his only hope is to ask his  _ friend  _ what the hell is he thinking.

But it’s easier said than done and so by the time Valentine’s Day comes along, Sherlock has yet to try to bring up the subject and so he’s dreading their…  _ date _ . He considers (very briefly) not showing up at the flat tonight and staying at his brother’s, but he quickly discards the idea because a) John would be upset and b) Mycroft (or Lestrade or both) would murder him for interrupting… whatever he might interrupt. And he really needs to stop that line of thought from going anywhere further, because that’s a mental image he most definitely doesn’t want.

So, in the end, he goes home after his classes, just like any other day, fearing the worst.

There goes nothing.

* * *

 

“What… um… what’s all this?” he asks, looking around the dimly lit kitchen, staring at the candles on top of the table, the pair of wine glasses and the dishes carefully arranged over the small table.

“You like it?” John asks, grinning widely, practically bouncing on his feet.

“I… yes?”

John’s grin widens as he steps closer to Sherlock. “I know you hate all this…  _ cliche  _ stuff, but I thought… I mean… it’s Valentine’s Day and once a year can’t hurt, can it?”

Sherlock’s heart is beating painfully against his chest, so he’s not quite sure about that statement. “But I… I thought… I don’t understand,” he confesses finally, staring at John who is now holding his hands.

“The great Sherlock Holmes, only consulting detective in the world, doesn’t understand something? Wow. That must be a first,” John teases good naturedly, smile wide and pleasant.

“We’re not a couple,” Sherlock states, because despite how much he doesn’t want to talk about this, he really can’t continue ignoring it any longer.

“What?” John asks, sounding honestly baffled, letting go of his hands and stepping back. “Are you… you don’t want us to be together anymore?”

“No, I- of course I- but you! You always introduce me as your friend!”

“What?” John asks, as if Sherlock was the one being deliberately obtuse.

Sherlock takes a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. “You never want to hold hands when we’re in public, let alone kiss. You introduce me to all of your friends as your flatmate and friend, you’ve never given anyone any indication that you’re  _ off the market  _ and we’ve never actually discussed our relationship, so...” He gestures widely, a bit desperately. “I don’t know what to think.”

John looks stricken and it quickly morphs into a look of utter consternation. Sherlock’s stomach clenches unpleasantly, but he forces himself to keep a blank expression on the outside. “You mean to say… all this time… you’ve assumed we’re just… what? friends with benefits?”

Sherlock shrugs helplessly. “It was the most logical conclusion.”

John opens his mouth to reply, but promptly closes it again. He stares at the ceiling for a while and Sherlock can’t help worrying he has just made things worse; he wants to go back in time and take it all back, act pleased at John’s attempts of being romantic and take whatever he can, whatever John is willing to give and-

“Oh, Sherlock,” John murmurs finally, stepping closer once more, taking his hands in his once again. “I’m so sorry. I thought… it didn’t occur me we weren’t on the same page.” He licks his lips nervously, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes. “I’m not… I’ve never… These things don’t come easily to me. I’m not the kind of person who’s super comfortable talking about feelings and when you kissed me back I just thought… I assumed you knew how I felt about you. And yes, you’re right, I haven’t told anyone we’re dating, but it just didn’t seem… I mean, I’m a private person and so are you, so I didn’t think… you hadn’t told anyone either and I thought maybe you were just more comfortable like that.”

“Who was I going to tell?” Sherlock asks, shrugging helplessly. 

“That’s… that’s a fair point. I just… It honestly didn’t occur me you could think I was… that I wasn’t… I mean…” he trails off, shaking his head and letting out a self deprecating laugh. “God, I feel like such an asshole.”

Sherlock bites his lip, unsure how to answer that. “I didn’t… mind, not exactly. I thought… I really  _ really  _ like you. I would take anything you were willing to give, John.”

John shakes his head once more. “It doesn’t make it right. Even if… even if what you thought was true, one does not stubble into a casual arrangement like this! I should… I should have talked to you about what I wanted.” He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at it harshly. “And the worst part is that you tried to bring the subject up a couple of times, I remember that, and I just… I just… god, Sherlock! You shouldn’t have let me do that.”

Sherlock bites his lip, staring at his feet. “I was… worried I wouldn’t like what you’d tell me.”

John smiles sadly and once more reaches for Sherlock hand. “I’m so sorry. I… I swear I’ll make it up to you. If you still want… I mean…”

“Of course I want!” Sherlock exclaims, rather passionately, pulling John closer. “Of course I want you.”

John smiles up at him, “even if I’m very bad at this communicating business?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m much better,” Sherlock points out, smiling shily. “We’ll work on that.”

John hums in agreement, kissing his cheek chastely, grinning widely once again. “So, dinner?”

Sherlock smiles some more, pulling him into an actual kiss, before whispering seductively against his ear. “Starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> Does the ending feel super rushed? I mean, of course it all was an stupid misunderstanding, but did they solved it too easily? Did it make sense?  
> Let me know what you thought!  
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


End file.
